


If You Love Something, Set It Free

by Irrealia



Series: Kinky Who [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adultery, Community: eleventy_kink, Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation, Multi, OT3, Plot What Plot, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrealia/pseuds/Irrealia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Eleven fucks Amy while Rory watches. Rory's turned on rather than jealous. Super hardcore bonus points for DirtyTalking!Doctor"</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Love Something, Set It Free

**Author's Note:**

> A wee bit spiffed up from the original post. (Better spellchecking, a couple of tiny wording tweaks.)

He could ignore it, if it were just the Doctor. He knows the Doctor is perfectly capable of self-restraint, pathologically capable even. He won't let himself have River, after all, even when he could do, anytime he wanted.

He could ignore it, if it were just Amy. Amy has always been promiscuous with her affections, and he's always been OK, because in the end, she always comes back to him. Even though the Doctor is the star of her every youthful fantasy, Amy still chooses him. And though she does a good impression of it, Amy isn't really flighty. She takes her promises seriously, and she promised to be with Rory.

He can't ignore the both of them though. Amy flirts, Amy's physical, always throwing herself into the Doctor's arms, or sidling up to him by the TARDIS console, thigh pressed against thigh. The Doctor is careful never to flirt back, but the way he looks at her, anyone would know how he feels. Rory finds himself the constant recipient of apologetic looks from both parties, and it's driving him mad. He feels like a guilt machine.

“Just put me out of my misery,” he bursts out one day. “Put me out of my misery, and go shag already, will you?”

Amy looks at him as if he's suddenly sprouted horns. The Doctor looks at him as if he has fallen out of a hole in the sky. The tour guide who had been showing them around the legendary Botanical Gardens of the Suzerainty of Tsapf looks at him as if he had just announced a desire to trample on the rare byrocalpis bushes they are presently standing in front of, blooming now for the first time in seventy-five years.

“I'll just go back to the TARDIS, then,” Rory mutters, and he does. He goes straight to the bedroom, kicks off his trainers, and crawls into bed, clothes and all. He pulls the duvet over his head and prays for the TARDIS to swallow him up in a fit of confusion while rearranging the décor.

He expects Amy to be the one to wake him up, but it's the Doctor who knocks at the door of their bedroom, bearing a tray with a pot of tea and Rory's favourite biscuits. It would be difficult to be cross in the face of Hobnobs no matter what the situation, but he isn't really cross with the Doctor anyway. How can he really blame the Doctor for wanting to fuck Amy when he completely agrees about her incredible, delicious fuckability?

“Rory,” says the Doctor. “Are you all right? No headaches? Blurred vision? Erections lasting more than four hours?”

“No, I, err... what?”

“Sex pollen,” answers the Doctor, as if this were a perfectly ordinary thing that everyone had heard of. “Flowers are reproductive systems, you know, and some species of xenoflora are compatible enough with humans to produce strong arousal, unusual sexual fantasies or in more extreme cases, compulsive sexual behaviour, sometimes priapism in males. We didn't pass through any of the more treacherous parts of the Gardens of Tsapf, but there may have been a strong wind. Anyway. Just to be sure that's not the reason.”

“I'm _quite_ sure.”

“In that case, I suppose you must have actually meant it.”

Rory's cheeks are on fire, but he's too tired to be dishonest. “I did. You know she wants you, Doctor. Remember when you first brought me on board? Because Amy kissed you? You said she kissed you basically because there was a lot of danger and then you didn't die, but you know, you have to know, it was more than that. And you want her too. I'm not blind. I see how you are with her.”

Rory takes a sip of tea. Just how he likes it, with lemon but no sugar. Something the Doctor probably doesn't know. “If you love something, set it free,” he intones. “Stop denying yourself, Doctor. Stop denying her. And Amy, stop listening at doors.”

Amy bounds in, annoyed to be caught out, but not annoyed to see Rory, not annoyed that he's not cross with her. She yanks the duvet off the bed, gives Rory a little punch on the shoulder, and then smothers him with a hug to end all hugs. And then, she turns to the Doctor.

“Well then Doctor, shall we?”

The Doctor splutters his tea back into the mug. “What? Here? Now? Pond, don't be ridiculous.”

“Why not?” she says. “I'm sure Rory'd like to know you're not doing anything naughtier than you're supposed to be! He's my _husband_ after all.” She walks over to the Doctor, hips swaying, eyes fixed on him, and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her body flush against him.

“Actually, Amy, I think it's fine if you do this without me,” says Rory, sitting up, but Amy shoots him a “heel, boy!” kind of look, and he sinks back into the pillow, trying to relax. Where did the mug full of tea go? He needs tea. Amy pushing the Doctor onto the bed next to him cannot be handled without more tea. The Doctor isn't looking at either of them, but instead at some blank spot on the wall opposite the bed; it's the same look as when he's trying to work out a problem. Then something in his mind seems to shift and click a bit, and his eyes are on Amy, gazing at her with his full depth of pride, admiration, and wanting.

“Well, then,” he says at last. “I suppose if we're going to do this, best do it right, eh Pond?” And then he's pulling her on top of him, kissing her, rolling her over, and scrabbling at the hem of her jumper, pulling it over her head. Her bra is plain black satin and lying on her back, her breasts fall up and almost out of it, leaving the nipples free for the Doctor to lick. He swirls his tongue around the left and then catches it in his teeth, tugging gently as it hardens; he gives the right one the same attention. Then he turns and looks over at Rory, next to them. It's a questioning look, and the Doctor isn't asking for permission, exactly, but acceptance. “Really, Rory, is this OK?” he's asking, and Rory nods, slowly.

It _is_ OK. It's so OK that he might even be getting a little hard, watching the Doctor kiss his way to the waistband of Amy's skirt and then open the fastenings and slide it off her to reveal her black satin pants. It's like watching porn on the internet, except it stars the most beautiful woman in the world to him, and if he asked, they'd do anything, because she loves him. And because the Doctor loves him. And in some deeply fucked-up way that Rory isn't certain he understands, this is happening precisely because Amy and the Doctor love him, each in their own way.

And then he stops thinking and starts stroking himself through his boxers, because the Doctor has Amy's pants off now and he's sliding his long slender fingers into her, slowly, looking for the spot that's going to make her gasp and there it is, moving faster now, fucking her properly with two fingers, and hitting that same spot over and over again. Amy's fiddling with his bowtie, trying to remedy the Doctor's clothed state, until her arms don't quite work anymore and her hands fall to her sides, grabbing fiercely at the sheets as she arches up against the Doctor. She screams out her pleasure as he coaxes her along with soft words in her ear. “That's it Amelia,” he says, “Give it to me. Let go for me. Come hard for me, that's it, good girl.” As she relaxes and breathes a little more easily, drifting back to earth, he pushes himself up on to his knees in front of her.

“As I recall, you seemed to rather like watching me undress,” the Doctor notes. “Is that why you're always trying to get this bowtie off me Pond?” Amy snorts but her gaze is locked on him as the Doctor sheds bowtie, braces, and then shirt. He stands, bare-chested, and shucks off his boots, socks, trousers, and pants. Then he comes back to the bed, and he's naked and lovely and as hard as ever. So's Rory for that matter, hard enough to have slipped his pants down, the better to stroke himself. The Doctor slides a finger between Amy's thighs, and makes rather a production of licking it. “Still wet then. Good. Rory did tell me to shag you, and judging by your husband's present state, I think I really better had.” Amy nods and spreads her legs wide; the Doctor grabs her ankles and pulls them over his shoulders, driving into her cunt almost unceremoniously.

Rory should be embarrassed, but he's too turned on to be, and thank fuck for that.The look on the Doctor's face is transparent bliss, and Rory wonders if he looks like that when he fucks Amy. He strokes himself slow and firm and in time with the Doctor's thrusts, in time with Amy's moans. Amy always goes incoherent when Rory fucks her; she loses herself so quickly in sensation. She's no different with the Doctor, her only words a litany of “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” as the head of his cock strokes her in all the right ways and his thumb works her clit. The Doctor is more verbose: “Amelia, so tight, hot, wet, perfect Amelia, perfect gorgeous lovely girl, fuck, Amelia, I'm....”

Amy's moans are screams again, and the Doctor also loses the power of speech as he comes after her, pulling out and spilling himself onto the little tufts of red hair above her snatch, and Rory follows them, biting his lip and breathing hard and surrendering to the general atmosphere of orgasmic messiness.

“So! Rory, did we put you out of your misery?” asks the Doctor, some immeasurable minutes later.

“Yeah,” says Rory, fumbling about for a tea towel. “Thanks mate. Cheers.”


End file.
